


Off to the Races

by ros3bud009



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Bodyguard AU, Flirting, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Vaguely Royalty AU, When Did I Decide I Could Write a RomCom?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 12:55:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20639513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/pseuds/ros3bud009
Summary: “You’re going to be a real handful, aren’t you?”“You have no idea,” Knock Out replied with a wink.





	Off to the Races

**Author's Note:**

> You ever discover that what you want -- what must SURELY exist because it's so OBVIOUS, it MUST have been done before! -- doesn't seem to actually exist so you're gonna have to do it yourself?
> 
> Anyway, KOBD deserve a bodyguard AU
> 
> Worldbuilding is TFP with some secondhand knowledge of the TFIDW comics all thrown into a blender with a heavy dose of my own personal handwaving and "well this would be fun"
> 
> Hopefully you enjoy this wild and silly journey we'll all be going on together

“What are you talking about? Of _course _you need a bodyguard!”

Knock Out rolled his optics as he leaned further against the pile of pillows he had stacked against one side of the couch, allowing him to lounge as he swirled his drink.

“I’ve done just fine without one so far, haven’t I?”

Blurr’s engine growled as he paced, his mouth opening and closing and opening again, though apparently even the known chatterbox had so many words trying to come out at once that they dammed up his vocalizer.

Arcee was not so easily silenced.

“You are aware that, at this very second, there are guards in this building, guarding us, guarding _you_? You’ve had guards since the day Speedia brought you in.”

Knock Out pursed his lips as he looked up at where she was leaning against the back of the couch.

“They’re _building security_, Arcee.”

“It’s not much different,” she pressed.

“It’s entirely different!” Knock Out surged up, free servo waving in emphasis. “They keep the building secure because of our _dear_ Mama. Not for her trophy enduras, not for her first two trophy heirs, and certainly not for _me_, her current trophy heir.”

Blurr turned on his heels fast enough to scrape the floor as he finally managed to blurt, “Trophies need security! Trust me, mechs are constantly trying to steal trophies, my manager has to keep mine under lock and key that’s so secure even _I _can’t see them, and they’re _my_ trophies—”

“No one is trying to steal me!” Knock Out interrupted, getting to his pedes this time. After a second, he corrected, “No one is trying to _kidnap_ me. What would even be the point?”

“You’re the True Heir of Velocitron?”

“You are the only one of us who has the legal right to challenge her for the throne and so long as you hold that power, you are considered a risk to Speedia’s reign by her loyalists—”

“Blurr, I say this with love in my spark, but would you _please _shut up.” Knock Out tipped his helm back to finish his drink in one go and then walked over to the small bar tucked into the corner. “If I planned to use that right then I would have concerns about my safety. But at this point there isn’t a Velocitronian alive who doesn’t already know I’m not the least bit interested, and that’s exactly why our dear Mama picked me. I’ll be the True Heir until the day she vents her last and the throne is offered up in a planet-wide race. One I _won’t_ be joining.”

Which was all true. While Speedia had initially insisted on guards when Knock Out went out in public, he slipped out without them time and time again, wandering Velocitron wholly unbothered and unmolested. Knock Out may have been the second most powerful Velocitrons in theory, but he was little more than a figurehead, and was perfectly happy with that.

And that was widely public information.

Blurr huffed and returned to pacing, muttering rapidly to himself.

Arcee, however, kept her optics steady on Knock Out as he returned to the couch.

“You could still change your mind.”

Knock Out snorted, carefully keeping his drink upright as he crossed his free arm over his chest, hip cocked out.

“All this time and _still _vying to knock her off her throne? When _will_ you give up?”

Arcee feigned an unbothered shrug.

“The day she stops bringing in useless idiots like you two.”

Knock Out laughed, short and a bit mean, as he twirled to flop into the couch with practiced ease, not spilling so much as a drop of his drink.

“Dear Mama is many things, Arcee, but dumb is not one of them. She learned her lesson with you. No more heirs who actually want the responsibility of ruling.”

Knock Out tipped his helm back and to the side, looking over at Arcee as she bent over the back of the couch.

“But in case I’ve somehow not made it clear the last hundred times, let me repeat myself: I. Don’t. Want. It.”

Arcee’s optics brightened as they cycled narrower.

“Then abdicate and force her to pick another heir.”

“She also learned from Blurr. He let you convince him to renounce his position because he had a career that it was getting in the way of. I don’t.”

“You could actually use that surgery training of yours.”

“And work before I need to? No thank you.” Knock Out took a sip of his drink, letting the delicate, _expensive _taste of it linger before swallowing. “I’ll use it when she offlines and I _have_ to support myself and not a minute before.”

Finally, Arcee ex-vented tiredly and slumped over the couch backwards, knees hooked over the back of the couch and helm tipped over the edge of the cushions.

“I’ll convince you one of these days.”

Knock Out chuckled as he pivoted in his spot, lifting his pedes so he could rest his shins on Arcee’s abdomen as he lounged back against the plush armrest again.

“I expect nothing less than for you to keep trying, sister dearest.”

Arcee pursed her lips and smacked his leg hard enough to sting. When Knock Out hissed, she finally smiled again, patting the sore spot.

“Anything for you, baby brother.”

“Good. So we’re all agreed then. There’s no reason to bother with a bodyguard.”

Between one blink and the next, Blurr was standing next to the couch, leaning over the arm to glower down at Knock Out.

“You aren’t just walking around Velocitron, you’re going to _Cybertron_, and Cybertron is very, very, very different! It’s dangerous for Velocitronians, especially one who’s part of the royal house—”

Blurr didn’t stop when Knock Out looked back down towards Arcee imploringly. She shrugged.

“He’s not wrong.”

“Oh, shut up. Dating a couple of Cybertronians doesn’t make you an expert.”

“Hey!”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Blurr cried, slapping his servos down on the armrest to either side of Knock Out’s helm. “_I _know because _I’m_ the one who’s there so often, and I know it’s dangerous, so you should listen to me!”

“They’ve already finished having their little revolution, so I don’t see—”

“That’s the problem! Cybertron has shifted from an ideology similar to ours, though more complicated, it wasn’t just _racing_ but lots of other functions, but now none of that matters because they’re trying one that’s completely different—”

An entry request pinged on Knock Out’s comm suite from Brakedown, the oldest of the royal butlers. Rumor had it he had been working in the House since before Speedia had taken over as Ruler. No doubt he came bearing the Cybertronian bodyguard hired for Knock Out’s trip.

“—and so to them we’re like relics of a barbaric style of society, but dangerous relics because it hasn’t been very long since the revolution, barely any time at all, so obviously things are still rocky there—”

Knock Out hemmed and hawed for just a moment before the idea struck him.

Well. If he had to meet this mech, he might as well have fun before dismissing him.

“—and there’s still a lot of Cybertronians who want to go back to functionalism, who look to us as an example—”

“You have a smudge.”

No one could bring a rant to a screeching halt quite like Blurr could. It was as if all the words were smashed up against each other, blaring from his voice box in one garbled blat of nonsense. It took a full reset before he managed a simple, “What?”

“A smudge. It’s under your chin, right – no, no, come here, I’ll get it.”

Another ping, this time with a higher priority note attached. Knock Out ignored it for the couple of seconds it took to coax Blurr to lean further over the armrest, and more importantly over Knock Out’s face, until he could cradle the racer’s face, leading him in closer.

“I just repainted after the last race and I’m leaving again in a couple hours, my manager will chew me out if I ruined it before the photoshoot—”

“Hush. I almost have it.”

Knock Out sent the code to his door, unlocking it, before arching his back just a bit, just enough to jut his chest out that much more, all while bringing Blurr close enough that he could feel his panicked ex-vents against his lips.

“Mmhm, right there…”

The telltale whoosh of the door sliding open, pedesteps, and then a pair of ventilations was all Knock Out needed to know his plan had come to fruition.

One was a tired ex-vent that Knock Out easily recognized.

The other was a sharp in-vent.

Because of course. Who wouldn’t be struck by the image of Velocitron’s True Heir looking oh so comfortable draped over the First Heir and appearing to be pulling the Second Heir down for a scandalous kiss?

It would have been a pretty sight if Arcee hadn’t immediately groaned in the least attractive way possible and shoved his legs up and off of her.

“You’re disgusting.”

“There isn’t even a smudge, is there? Ugh, you’re the worst.”

“Oh, what’s a bit of fun?” Knock Out crooned as his siblings abandoned him to lounge alone on the couch.

“Very funny, as always, sir,” Brakedown deadpanned from the entryway. Knock Out finally deigned to look over, though his optics skipped right over the outdated frame of the head butler to the even bulkier, taller, _handsomer_ mech beside him.

The poor thing was staring with wide, bright optics.

Knock Out couldn’t have stopped himself from preening if he had tried. Fortunately he had no interest in stopping. So he was slow to drag himself up from the couch to standing, allowing his plating to flare out before settling back down against his frame, making sure to catch the light on every perfectly polished inch of him.

“And that’s why you’re my favorite, Brakedown,” Knock Out continued as he strolled up to them, never taking his gaze off the bodyguard. The mech’s optics flashed briefly, though he otherwise kept himself very still. “I assume this is the bodyguard dear Mama has hired for my trip?”

“Funny _and _insightful.”

“Careful. That nearly sounded insincere.”

“Perish the thought. Are you nearly done ogling or should I do these introductions for you, sir?”

Knock Out finally glanced at Brakedown, glowering at him. “Do excuse him. Brakedown seems to be losing his processor in his old age, among other things,” Knock Out said before turning his attention back to the bodyguard. In the span of his distraction, the mech had gathered some of his senses, his back impossibly straight as his face was schooled into professional neutrality.

Well that wouldn’t do at all.

“Do you have a name, Handsome?”

The bodyguard’s optics cycled wide and his in-vent hitched.

“Breakdown, sir.”

As much as Knock Out would have liked to enjoy finally hearing the rumbling voice that accompanied such a broad frame, his processor stuttered.

“What?”

Brakedown only smiled, his aged face crinkling with his amusement while the bodyguard coughed and tried to clarify, “It’s Breakdown. The same as Brakedown’s, but it’s ‘break’ as in breaking, not ‘brake’ as in, well, braking—no, wait, that’s not helpful—”

“Same pronunciation, different spelling and meaning, sir,” Brakedown said with a gentle pat to the bodyguard’s – Breakdown’s – shoulder. “I assume you already know about our prince.”

“I’m not a ‘prince,’” Knock Out sniffed.

And Breakdown nodded in agreement, though with who was unclear.

“Knock Out, Third Heir of the Velocitronian Royal House, selected from the 1,990th generation of Velocitronians by Speedia herself.”

“Good enough I suppose,” Knock Out said with a shrug.

Breakdown looked him up and down and then continued.

“You finished second in your post-forging assignment race, not first, though that information is typically kept quiet. It’s assumed by those who do know that you threw the race on purpose to avoid selection, and so Speedia selected you accordingly.” The nervousness of before was slipping away, and it was only when Breakdown’s lips threatened to curl up at the corners that Knock Out realized it might have something to do with his own expression going slack. “You are also currently the True Heir, and I have it on good authority you intend to remain such, opting out of following the path of challenging Speedia like the First Heir did or abdicating from your role like the Second Heir. Shall I go on, sir?”

Knock Out narrowed his optics.

“So you can read the gossip pages. Should I be impressed?”

Breakdown didn’t look the slightest bit put off.

“You completed your training as a surgeon specializing in cosmetics and modification several years ago, though you haven’t _officially_ used it.”

Knock Out didn’t care for the emphasis that Breakdown put on that officially, and he especially didn’t care to have anyone else in the room if Breakdown decided to extrapolate on it.

“Brakedown, would you be a dear and see my guests out?”

“Yes, sir,” the butler replied, though all he really did was move back towards the door, standing by it expectantly as Blurr and Arcee finally stepped up from where they had no doubt been watching in the background.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Arcee said with more fondness than she’d ever admit to as she passed.

“Call me as soon as you arrive in Cybertron, I’ll tell you where to go and where not to, you have my commlink, I _know _you do, don’t pretend you lost it again!” Blurr said with genuine worry before speeding out the door.

Breakdown glanced over his shoulder and then back at Knock Out, unsure, and Knock Out waved at him reassuringly as he turned on his heels to head back to the couch.

“Not you, Handsome. We have something to talk about first,” Knock Out explained, and with one more twist he was flopping back onto his cushions, lifting one leg much higher than necessary to fold over the other. “But I promise it’ll be quick, and then you can be on your way. I’d hate to waste your time or mine.”

Breakdown’s servos were still folded neatly behind his lower back, professional, non-aggressive, nearly passive looking in his posture. In his optics, though, burned a stubbornness to match the way he pushed his already prominent chest out that much further.

“You plan on dismissing me.”

Knock Out tipped his helm to the side.

“And how do you know _that_?”

“Your siblings were talking about it behind your back.”

With a chuckle, Knock Out brought his helm back upright, and replied, “Oh, don’t be confused. They’re my fellow heirs and nothing more. There isn’t anything about this House that encourages familial affection.”

Breakdown hummed noncommittally.

“But what they said is true.”

Primus. Breakdown was just so _tall_, and _wide_, and _strong _looking. It wasn’t fair that he also exuded the immovability of a fortress to match his frame. Or that it was _hot_.

But Knock Out still met his optics as he replied, “I have no need for a bodyguard.” Breakdown huffed with amusement, and Knock Out couldn’t stop himself from bristling. “I _don’t_. I may not be a big lug like you, but I’m not nearly so delicate as I look.”

“I wouldn’t call you delicate looking.”

“Compliments won’t change my mind.”

Breakdown was silent for a moment, the professional neutrality twisted with the crinkling of his face as he considered Knock Out seriously.

“Have you been to Cybertron, sir?”

Knock Out frowned.

“I assure you that Blurr has already given me the whole spiel about how you Cybertronians feel about us Velocitronians, and in half the time it would take you. And furthermore, I can promise you that none of it matters because I’m not going as a politician.” Knock Out lifted his leg again so he could lean forward to brace his elbows on his spread knees, looking up at Breakdown pointedly. “I don’t _do _politics. I’m a _socialite_. I _socialize_. I schmooze and charm and soothe any misgivings politicians might have so that things are nice and smooth for when my dear Mama swoops in to do the politics.”

Still, Breakdown didn’t look convinced.

“Do you support the way Velocitron currently functions?”

_That _was not what Knock Out had expected. He pursed his lips, before smirking, replying sweetly, “Well, I've always preferred a big muscle car to little bikes and speedsters, if that’s what you mean. I like a mech with heft.”

There was no mistaking the way Breakdown shifted his weight, lightly clearing his ventilation systems. However, he still pushed, asking, “Do you always use flirting to avoid questions?”

“Again with the gossip rags,” Knock Out teased, and Breakdown snorted.

“Don't need them. My optics and audials function just fine.”

With an amused hum, Knock Out propped his chin on one fist.

Handsome, stubborn, _and _capable of holding his own.

“If you must know, no, I don’t,” Knock Out finally admitted, the humor of before leaving it, though he still kept his tone casual. Light. As if he weren’t talking about the state of his colony. “The way we’re doing things is outdated and unsustainable. Everyday we’re careening ever closer to total collapse. Which is why I’m going to play nice with the mean ol’ Cybertronian politicians so my dear Mama can forge this partnership and keep us from flying right off that cliff. We get the supplies we need to keep afloat while she makes new friends to hopefully learn a thing or two from.”

There was a moment of silence as Breakdown stared at him, optics wider, brighter.

And then, finally, he smiled.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, sir, but that sounds like a political agenda to me.”

Knock Out blinked.

And then he couldn’t help it.

He laughed.

“Aren’t you a clever one?” Knock Out complained, even as he relaxed back into the couch with an amused twist to his lips.

And he would swear that Breakdown stood that much taller at the compliment.

“I wouldn’t say that. Just have a lot of experience with your type.”

“Charming socialites?”

“Spoiled brats,” Breakdown corrected as one of his servos appeared from behind his back, holding a datapad out towards Knock Out. “You’re not the first to try to buck me.”

“Rather rude for a bodyguard, aren’t you?”

“Seems to be working out alright for me.”

Breakdown wiggled the datapad, and Knock Out considered waiting him out. See if he would eventually give in to Knock Out’s silent wishes and come over instead.

But if he had to admit defeat, it was better to do it on his own two pedes.

So Knock Out stood, but he took his steps slowly, languidly.

“Fine,” he relinquished, stepping in close to Breakdown and simply placing a digit on the end of the datapad instead of grabbing it, forcing the towering mech to keep holding it. “You win. But only because Cybertron sounds terribly dull, so I might as well have some entertainment to keep my company. Now, do tell, which side of the berthroom door do you recharge on?”

“I don’t recharge while on a job.”

“Fortunately for you, I doubt little recharge would be involved on my side of it.”

Breakdown ex-vented with exasperation, as if that very ex-vent didn’t give away how heated his frame was becoming.

“I don’t frag while on a job either.”

“Pity. Do let me know when that changes.” Knock Out finally grabbed hold of the datapad, and instantly Breakdown let it go and stepped back.

“It won’t,” Breakdown stated plainly, like a fact, but he never gave Knock Out the chance to argue. “That’s your itinerary with my alterations and further details of how my company will keep you safe on your trip.”

Knock Out frowned as he looked down at the datapad.

“Alterations? _What _alterations?”

“We can discuss any questions or concerns you may have on the flight over tomorrow, sir,” Breakdown said in lieu of a real answer.

With a huff, Knock Out waved him off while onlining the datapad. “Alright, alright, I know a hint when I hear one. Go enjoy your last recharge while I attempt to entertain myself with some light reading.”

Breakdown chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that warmed Knock Out. But then he was bowing his head slightly, saying, “Of course, sir,” before turning and seeing himself out.

Knock Out pursed his lip.

“Oh, and Breakdown?”

“Yeah?” Breakdown asked, looking over his shoulder with one servo on the frame of the open door.

“I haven’t been the least bit subtle in my attempts to invite you into my berth for a casual frag, so surely you can just call me Knock Out.”

And when Breakdown huffed, it was filled with humor.

“You’re going to be a real handful, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea,” Knock Out replied with a wink.

And Breakdown laughed again.

“Good night, _sir_.”

“Spoilsport.”

And just like that, Breakdown was gone, the door sliding shut behind him.

Knock Out finally opened the comm notification that had been blinking in the corner of his HUD.

> Arcee: So? What’s the verdict?
> 
> Blurr: ?
> 
> Blurr: ???
> 
> Blurr: ???????
> 
> Blurr: ?????????????????
> 
> Blurr: ??????????????????????????

Knock Out chuckled, unceremoniously tossing the datapad onto his side table. He could read it tomorrow on the ship, forcing Breakdown to listen to each and every complaint he had about any and all alterations.

> Knock Out: I’ll keep him for now

Just because he didn’t _need _a bodyguard didn’t mean he couldn’t _enjoy _one, right?


End file.
